


Traumhafte Landschaft

by cream_pudding



Category: Kingdom Hearts (Video Games)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern with Magic, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Dreams vs. Reality, First Meetings, M/M, Mystery, Secret Santa, Winter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-24
Updated: 2019-12-24
Packaged: 2021-02-26 01:15:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,893
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21925042
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cream_pudding/pseuds/cream_pudding
Summary: Night after night, Roxas has the same dream. Snow. Cold. A town. A man—a man who claims to be real. Roxas works tirelessly to find the truth and must make a difficult choice between what his heart wants and what is the selfless thing to do.
Relationships: Axel/Roxas (Kingdom Hearts)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 53
Collections: Secret Santa 2019





	Traumhafte Landschaft

**Author's Note:**

  * For [paopusky](https://archiveofourown.org/users/paopusky/gifts).



> Hi, paopusky! SURPRISE! Your Secret Santa sadly had _life_ happen to them so couldn't fill the prompts. I stepped in as a stocking filler. I hope you, and anyone else reading this, enjoys the story.
> 
> There is explicit sexual content below, but anyone who regularly reads my works already know that 😏.
> 
> Thank you, [sujurean](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sujurean) for beta'ing and pre-reading this for me and being responsible for _that_ kiss. 😘

With eagerness in his heart and a positive attitude, Roxas stepped into the large foyer of the five-story municipal building, clad in an imposing Neoclassical façade. The exterior was embellished with marble pillars and interiors featured large pedimented window frames and opulent furnishings; plush carpets, ornate ceilings, and masterpieces as large as double doors hanging on gilded wallpapered walls. 

Roxas had been lucky to land himself an internship at this prestigious law firm in the heart of the city. He knew the position entailed copious amounts of grunt work, but he was prepared and ready for it.

His induction was swift and before he knew it he was part of a team specializing in civil law, shadowing the lawyers and being privy to how they worked both in and out of court. His job of course also included running coffee errands, but this didn't faze him. It was all part of climbing the ladder of success.

He had been on the job for close to a month when he was assigned a laborious task that no one else on the team wanted to do; collate and backdate old court reports and manuscripts. He got his own desk and a filing cabinet, which had him beaming with pride. Between coffee trips, shadowing interviews, and being allowed to sit outside of the courtrooms, Roxas went through centuries worth of data year by year, decade by decade. Each time he finished with one section he filed it away in the building’s archives, on the top floor.

He passed galleries worth of old artworks hanging on the long hallway, leading from the elevator to the door of the archive, which was a glorified attic. Roxas found the space desolate and mildly creepy, which is why he tried to minimize his time spent up there. The place smelled musty and looked like a museum, what with the lofty ceiling and the collection of artifacts haphazardly stowed away. Half the lights weren't functioning along the hallway, the wallpaper was torn and peeling, and Roxas was pretty sure he saw some rats up there too.

So, understandably, this was the least favorite part of his work schedule. Other than that, work was going well for him, though. He didn't have much of a personal life to speak of so the long hours didn't interfere with anything, except for his sleep. He found himself exhausted and slept soundly, except when he didn't.

He had never been one for remembering his dreams. In fact, he was always someone who'd readily dispute ever _having_ dreams because he could never recall a single instance of ever having one. Yet, when his job commenced, he started waking up to half-remembered snowy-white images of places he never visited and memories of experiences he never had. Snow, white Christmases, the biting cold… Roxas had never felt or seen snow before, so he found it strange that this was all he saw in his dreams, never mind how weird it was to even _have_ dreams. And the dreams became far more vivid with the passing weeks.

He found himself in a proverbial winter wonderland. Snow up to his knees. Snow-laden pine trees. Frigid air burning against his skin and his fingers bitingly numb. He wandered around, clutching himself for warmth as he trudged in the stillness, with no sounds to be heard, only the deathly silence.

Roxas awoke from those dreams with his hairs on end, a disturbing head-fuzz, and relief sitting in his chest that he was tucked up in his bed, cozy and warm in his rented apartment.

Yet, he couldn't get his head around how real the dreams felt; how the echoing sense of loneliness lingered inside his chest. Some mornings he couldn't wait to get out of his small apartment, onto the street and be able to talk to someone, even if it was the bus driver whom he only gave a courteous nod and a grumbling 'Morning,' to. It was better than the chill the dreams left in him.

Where the sensation and thoughts had been mild at first, they grew and compounded over the weeks to such an extent that he vividly recalled every detail. It unsettled him enough to talk to his friend, Olette, about it.

“You know, it’s like I’m _really_ there. It feels as real as me sitting here talking to you right now. Every detail. And it sticks in my head and I don’t know why,” he sighed, shoulders slumping.

Olette hummed. She had patiently listened to Roxas recall his dreams; describe the place, and the feeling of the cold. “I don’t know. Dreams aren’t anything but your brain processing the day's or week’s events," she blew off coolly, as they sat on the couch at her home.

“Yeah, but… there’s nothing in my dreams that’s remotely related to my everyday life.”

“The subconscious is a weird place. Maybe you saw a ski resort advertised somewhere? Oh! Or maybe,” she giggled, poking him, “you feel your job is distant and cold.”

“I… guess?”

So he tried to ignore the incessant, repetitive dreams. Yet one night, things changed.

He trudged through the brightly lit forest toward some dark shapes he spied through a break in the treeline. Up a hill, he slogged with huffing breaths that misted and swirled before him. He held himself, cold from the frigid air. Eventually, he crossed a small bridge, which spanned over a barely-babbling brook that was almost completely frozen.

All was still, except for the water, and a little breeze that picked up glittering ice crystals in such a way that the air sparkled. It was pretty, yet also dismal. Roxas felt dismal, and tired, and cold. So cold. He hoped to find something to warm himself with near the village or town or city; whatever it was he saw off in the distance.

The trail felt so familiar to him, like he had seen it before—like he might have trudged this path in another lifetime, or just yesterday. He knew the bent tree, the woodpiles, the stone cairns that dotted the barely visible snow trail. He climbed the hill and arrived at the outskirts of what had to be a sizable township. The uneven stones sat stacked together, forming a wall with moss and snow stuck between the crannies, torches burned and sat snug in sconces by the tall wooden gates, which lay flung open, inviting him inside.

Roxas wandered down the cobbled streets, which lay swept clear of snow. Shops lined the street and wares sat out the front in carts and stalls. Roxas looked at all the gadgets, silks, cured meats, seasonal foods. Everything looked unique and appetizing. The place, for all intents and purposes, looked like a lively marketplace but remained completely empty. Roxas didn't pay it any mind, as he was too caught up in exploring.

He walked through silent street after street, finding no change in his surroundings. The town felt abandoned, and yet it must have happened only moments earlier because everything looked pristine and untouched by winter’s cruel bite. Or if it happened a long time ago, it certainly was as if time had stood still here.

The sense of familiarity didn’t leave him, but Roxas couldn't place the why or where. He knew his way around. He knew there was a church on the hill, a tavern by the main market place, a fountained plaza, and a school by the brook on the sloping hill. Nothing in this deathly quiet place surprised him.

He stood on the hill, the church at his back, and the forest sprawling all around him, and beyond that, the bleak, white snowscape fanning out along an endless horizon. All he heard was the wind and the creak of snow-laden tree boughs. The sun came out from behind an errant cloud, dazzling him. 

Something hit him. He screamed and flinched, whirling around. Wet, cold snow clung to the back of his head. He shielded his eyes against the bright glare, looking for who or what had—“Hey!” he shouted as another snowball hit him head-on.

Giggling sounded from behind the low-slung weathered stone wall, running the perimeter of the church. Roxas headed for it, veering off toward the trees as he caught a flash of red disappear into the forest.

Roxas chased after the fleeing figure, with a mix of annoyance and exhilaration. The sparse snow within the darkened woods allowed him to run faster. He saw the bright red streak through the dappled light, weaving in and out of the trees, the masculine laugh echoing and getting louder as Roxas got closer.

They got to a clearing, the figure Roxas chased turned around. A grin stretched across a pale face, framed by locks of ruby red hair. The man bent down, scooped up snow, fashioning it into a ball at lightning speed and hit Roxas in the face, yet again. Roxas sputtered and wiped his eyes clear, bent down and engaged the other man in a snowball fight.

The man’s laugh rang in Roxas’ ears, even as he woke up to the blare of his alarm. Like sand, the memory of the dream trickled out of his consciousness until the next time he dreamed of being in the snowy place.

* * *

Roxas leaned over, looking down a deep, dark well.

“Hello.”

Roxas yelped and pushed back from the well, looking around himself. He saw a tall man with bright red hair, rich green eyes, and dark tattoos under his eyes. The man wore a scarlet winter coat and dark gloves, which he raised in a friendly wave.

“Ah… hi.”

“What did you drop down there?” the man asked. 

Roxas couldn’t recall, which led to the stranger proceeding to take Roxas around the marketplace, looking through the stalls to see if it had been any of the items they found there.

"Surely, an esteemed man such as yourself would look fetching in this scarf." A woolen scarf was draped around Roxas’ shoulders.

At another stall… 

"Perhaps it was this spin top you had lost?" The man spun the toy and it wobbled down the cobblestone path.

Another stall… 

"No, no, wait, do not tell me! It is this handsome visage you had searched for at the bottom of the well," and the man held up a mirror so Roxas could see the other man’s cheeky grin reflected.

The encounters kept happening and Roxas’ recollections of the meetings lingered and solidified over the weeks. He recalled talking about insignificant things, but the content of those things remained hard to make out. The harder he thought the more elusive and slippery the memories became. He did remember that they went to different places; the river, the hill, the cabin in the woods, and the tavern. 

The feelings he experienced lingered acutely. He felt like he laughed a lot in his dreams, and woke up in a better mood than he could recall being in for a long time. The memory of that man inside his dreams began taking root and grew in strength.

Roxas found himself daydreaming during his work hours over the figment of his imagination; his looks, his voice, his charm—He wished he knew someone like that in real life because his social calendar and love interests were very bare.

"You're imagining your dream man because you’re lonely," Olette supplied one weekend when Roxas came over for a cup of tea and a chat. "You work a lot and we never see you anymore and you never call. Listen to your subconscious and take a break so you can live a little."

But Roxas didn't listen. How could he? Work was important, and he felt too awkward around people to date them. The man in his dreams provided him with what he thought to be enough; tangible tingles and a racing pulse when he recalled the way the redhead called him, 'sweetheart,' every time Roxas made him laugh. Roxas didn't think he was very funny, or sweet, but the other man insisting he was, made him smile and feel good. Roxas tried not to think too hard on how the pleasant feelings were coming from his own subconscious, rather than someone real.

As nice as his dreams were it annoyed him that he couldn't _do_ anything inside them. He had no conscious choice and sat on autopilot. The things he wondered about the other man during the day never graced his lips at night and he longed to change that. So Roxas delved into the world of lucid dreaming, and whenever he wasn't focused on his work he'd spend time on the exercises he'd uncovered to help him do something as simple as asking the redhead's name.

He tried and tried, but the dream state proved too powerful. He even employed the help of a Dream Trainer, whom he’d found through Olette, of all people.

The woman’s name was Naminé. Roxas had to go to her house on a weekend, and it was the sort of house he’d expect a Dream Trainer to live in; soft tones and fabrics, a fresh breeze and calm in the house. Lots of mumbo jumbo gimmick kitsch of which dream catchers and crystals were the tip of the iceberg scattered around the place. 

But generally speaking, he felt he had a good conversation with her. She seemed interested in the repetitive nature of his dream scene and asked a great many details about the man he kept seeing and interacting with. He couldn’t answer even a fraction of what she asked him, which was disheartening. 

She gave Roxas some points on how to refine his lucid dream techniques and encouraged him to fall asleep on a daybed she had set up, to see if he might dream.

Roxas didn’t, and went home, practicing what Naminé had prescribed him to do.

* * *

The wind blew ice crystals through the plaza. Roxas walked and was joined by a familiar man.

“Hello.”

“Hey.”

"I've been thinking that it's a nice day for a walk today, and I was right. The day just got lovelier." The man smiled.

Roxas felt the heat of fluttering embarrassment. He smiled into his hand, his breath misting. 

“You look cold.” The man took his long red coat off and draped it over Roxas’ shoulders.

“Thank you. Will you be okay?”

“Definitely,” he chuckled, rich and deep. “Thank you for your concern, sweetheart.”

They walked around town, looking at things, laughing, and sharing little touches; their bodies bumping together as they ambled, their fingers brushing against one another as they passed things between themselves. The man’s green eyes rested on Roxas for long moments, making Roxas feel toasty warm.

"Do you think these persimmons are ripe?" Roxas held up the fruit while carrying a bag of groceries in his other arm.

The fruit was taken from him and carefully examined by the other man. "Only one way to find out," he bit into it and hummed.

Roxas laughed. "You can't just eat the produce."

"Says who?" A cheeky grin sprang onto his face.

"Me. The shopkeep—" Roxas looked around, his smile dropped. There was no one around. When and _where_ had he gotten a grocery bag from?

"Are you okay, sweetheart?"

Roxas snapped his attention onto the tall redhead, who still held the persimmon and chewed.

It dawned on Roxas that something wasn’t right. The invisible shackles which corralled him snapped loose. Like a thick, opaque glass shattering to reveal the scene behind it, Roxas could see clearly now. He was in a dream. He moved, marveling at his ability to willfully dictate his actions instead of sitting on auto-pilot. "I…" Roxas smiled with the ability to purposefully speak. "What's your name?" he asked with great enthusiasm.

"Name? My name?" A grandiose laugh rang out. "My name's…" the man paused, frowned, and dropped the persimmon. "My name…" A deep frown twisted his handsome features and then equally expressive, like a veil lifting, his eyebrows raised. "I'm Axel. Who are you?"

"Roxas."

Another rich laugh burst forth. "Of course you are. Pleased to meet you." They shook hands.

"Where is this place? This doesn't look like anything or any place I've ever been to," Roxas turned and for the first time properly took in his surroundings. Despite having adequate recollection of his dreams, it still felt completely new. Being _aware_ that he was dreaming was incredible.

Axel looked around himself as if seeing the town and marketplace for the first time as well. "I don't know."

"Are there any other people here?"

"I don't… think so." Axel slowly spun around.

"Do you live here?"

"I’m… not sure. I have a house down the road, but…" he shrugged.

Roxas wrinkled his nose, tired of the lack of answers. "Do you know _anything?_ "

An 'I don't know' looked to be on the cards, but instead of saying it, Axel smiled. "I know that I know you and that you are an absolute joy to behold and to spend time with."

Roxas flushed. "You know me? I don't know you."

"I remember your face. Seeing you in the forest. I remember us having snowball fights, and building an igloo, and spending time in the tavern talking." He grinned with enthusiasm.

Roxas felt sheepish. "Oh… Yeah, I remember that too, but… that's not what I meant. Do I know you outside of this?"

"Outside of this? This town? I have never been further than the river."

"No. This is a dream."

"Pardon?"

"A dream. I'm having a dream." 

Axel cocked an eyebrow. "Is that because I am a dream come true?"

"N-no…” Roxas choked as his heart jolted. “I'm dreaming. You're not real."

Axel took a step back and his eyes narrowed. "I am."

"You're not. This is all in my head because I'm lonely at work and in life and I really dig tall guys with tattoos and maybe I've been thinking about Chris from the floor above too much and it's all manifesting in this and _you,”_ he pointed.

The confused, affronted stare didn't leave Axel. "I would like to revisit the part where I am everything you find handsome and attractive, but before that… I am _not_ a hallucination and I am _not_ stuck in your dream.”

"But you are."

"Are not."

"You're not real."

"I am," Axel growled.

"Prove it."

Axel stared and shook his head. "No. I am real. How about _you_ prove to _me_ that _you're_ real."

He was about to object but closed his mouth and thought. He tried to voice several thoughts, but nothing coherent came out. "I can't," he sighed. "But I know what I know. I know where I was brought up, I have a family and two brothers and work my ass off at work each day. What do you do? Do you know anything outside of this place? Do you have a life that’s all your own?"

“I… don’t know.” The wind seemed to leave Axel's sails and his puffed out proud chest deflated. "I am real," he muttered.

"I'm sorry.” Roxas made to reach out to the other man, but stopped. “I'm sorry for the way this went. I just wanted to know your name, but couldn't ever ask because I'm stuck in a dream that I couldn't control. This is all really weird."

Axel pouted. “I agree something strange is happening. I don’t know why I don’t remember anything.”

Roxas knew the answer but didn’t want to upset the figment of his imagination any further. “Um… if you’re not someone I dreamed up I’d like to help you figure things out,” he said to make Axel happy. Him being happy mattered to Roxas, which was a strange thought to have over something in his own head.

“Thank you,” said Axel, attaching a grimace to it. “It is weird. I don’t know why it didn’t occur to me to get your name either. I just enjoyed spending time with you. Now that I think about it, I don’t see too many people come through here, except for you.”

“Have you ever seen anyone besides me?” Roxas probed further.

“Um…” Axel scrunched his face up and tapped his head for a moment, “yes. Random people come through here. But I don’t know how long it’s between visits. I…” his brows creased, “I don’t even know how much time passes between you coming here.” 

“What happens to you when I leave?”

“I…” Axel wrinkled his nose, “don’t know.”

Roxas’ voice dropped woefully low as he said, “I’m sorry.”

Axel took a deep inhale of breath. “It looks pretty bad for me right now, but I swear I’m real. I mean, could you _really_ dream me up, sweetheart?” he put on a smarmy smirk and leaned in, flicking at Roxas’ hair.

Roxas chuckled and shrugged. “It would be nice if you were real… if that counts for anything.”

Axel laughed a little and cupped Roxas’ chin, tilting his face up. “You’re so beautiful. If I _am_ in your head what’s that say about your own self-love.”

Roxas flushed. He cleared his throat and looked away. “So, what should we do now?”

Axel let go and shrugged. “Whatever you’d like. We have a bag of groceries we could make food with.”

“Do you know how I got these?”

“No clue.”

They both chuckled and spent the remainder of their time together talking comfortably until Roxas woke up. 

###### 

Roxas reported back to Naminé and she found the whole recount intriguing. She gave him a list of questions he should ask the next time he dreamed about the snowy place. Unfortunately for Roxas, inexplicably he spent a whole week not dreaming about the place or Axel. He thought it might be because he was sick, but then when he got better and went back to work he still had no dreams.

It went on like this for two weeks. He became anxious, wanting to see Axel again, _missing_ him. He spoke to Naminé, wanting to know how to force his brain into gear.

She simply shook her head. “The best you could do is try to lucid dream and no matter where you are, waking yourself up enough to force the place into existence. And remember, I want you to see if you can change the scenery while you’re with Axel. See if he comes with you or stays.”

“I’ve been trying, but I don’t dream, except about that place… so I can’t will it into existence. It’s either that place or nothing.”

“Hmm… has anything changed for you?”

“Well, I’ve been sick, and really busy at work with meetings.”

“Those are all out of the usual activities for you at work?”

“Yes.”

“See if the dreams come back when you get into your regular routine. Sometimes small objects or sensations can trigger us to have certain dreams. Notice what you aren’t noticing.”

He was getting used to her cryptic messages and knew that he wouldn’t get any further explanation, so he nodded and went on his way, hoping for work to settle back down.

It did, after another week of extensive training and shadowing. Roxas found himself back in his regular shared office, in the corner at his desk. Once again he was busy documenting and archiving old case notes, meeting minutes, and historical articles. 

Still, his dreams didn’t come back to him. Yet what he _did_ get was a sense of forlorn helplessness. He really wished he could tune his brain right. It seemed crazy to miss a figment of his imagination so much, but he did. He thought so much about Axel and yet he _still_ didn’t find himself capable of taking his mind back to the quiet town. 

He tried to refocus on work, filling up his box of archived materials so he could take it up to the attic and file it all away.

* * *

“What in the world!” Axel called out, throwing his arms in the air.

Roxas attacked him with a fierce hug on spotting the other man in town. “Axel!” He buried his face in Axel’s chest.

“Oh, Roxas. My, you sure seem happy to see me,” Axel chuckled.

“It’s been nearly a month. God, I’ve missed you.” Roxas squeezed Axel’s middle.

“A month?” Axel wheezed.

“Yeah. How long’s it felt for you?” Roxas pulled back and looked up, “Do you remember what happened while I wasn’t here?”

“Ah… shit… no. Everything’s blank. Though…” he tapped at his chin, “I think I remember seeing a man or a woman walking along the river at some point? I think it was between now and the last time I saw you, but…” Axel clicked his tongue, “my head’s too fuzzy to really know for sure.”

“Shit, I’m so sorry.”

“No, don’t apologize. It’s not your fault.”

“But if you live in my dreams then it _is_ my fault somehow.”

Axel huffed, irritated.

“I’m sorry. I know you don’t like me talking like that about you.”

Axel sighed and cupped Roxas’ cheek. “So please stop. And stop apologizing. Let’s go do something to take our minds off this.”

Heat rose inside of Roxas over the way Axel touched him. “Yeah, okay. Sure. What do you want to do?”

“We can go ice skating.”

“I don’t know how.”

“It’s your dream,” Axel drawled. “I’m sure you will be good at it, and if not maybe I can teach you.”

“You can skate?”

“I don’t know,” Axel smiled softly and they both chuckled. “Come. I want you to tell me what’s been happening with you after we last saw each other.”

Roxas filled Axel in, not noticing how they ended up on the ice and not caring why they both knew how to skate. They were too wrapped up talking to one another. And despite Axel having no personal life experiences to draw from and share, he still made Roxas laugh, and feel cared for. It was like they connected on some deep level and didn’t need superficial things to get on. Roxas liked that a whole awful lot.

So when he woke with a start to see his bedroom, a rousing disappointment greeted him. The snowy place and Axel still clung to his mind. The happiness and peace he’d experienced stuck to him. Why did he dream about it _now?_ It made no sense.

He spent the next day running over his previous workday in minute detail. Noticing the unnoticeable. He wrote down everything he had done differently the previous day compared to all the other days before. Only one thing stood out: his trip to the attic.

###### 

He itched to get to work on Monday. Positively died of anticipation for lunchtime to roll around so he could leave and head to the attic. He had nothing to archive at the moment, as it would be another day or two before he had enough material collated, but he couldn’t wait that long. He wanted to ensure he’d see Axel again _tonight._

He had no clue what he needed to look out for as he headed up in the elevator, so he remained vigilant. He peered around himself as he headed down the hall, and into the dusty room, with its high A-framed roof and row upon row of filing cabinets. Dim pendant lights hung from the ceiling's exposed wooden beams. The faint light from outside filtered through the caked-in-grime window. He could see, but not as clearly as he would like. 

Roxas got out and turned on his phone’s flashlight and proceeded to walk around and study the space. He felt ridiculous combing the place for… _something;_ a trinket, a mysterious box, a slip of fabric, an ancient scroll, a magic lamp. There were unmarked boxes, mismatched in shape and precariously stacked high, which Roxas wanted to avoid looking through completely. Then there were the filing cabinets where he knew not all of them contained paper folders. The thought that some small item might be slipped into one of them, which might explain the dreams and Axel, made Roxas anxious. It could easily take years to comb through the space, especially when he had to work around his job to do so.

He walked around and around, opening and shutting things, rifling, searching, searching, searching, hoping he could easily find whatever was triggering his dreams by him touching or interacting with it somehow. He knew he needed to be logical about this, so he retraced his usual steps around the attic before turning his mind toward everything else up there.

He came up with nothing obvious to link his dream to this location so, with a huffing sigh, slammed the filing cabinet he had gone through, shut. It banged and reverberated, tilting the painting that hung right above the filing cabinet. Roxas looked up at the artwork, reached up and over the cabinet to straighten it back up. He then looked around and noticed all the other paintings around the room. He spotted some landscapes, some portraits—his stomach rumbled. Roxas became acutely aware that he needed to get back down, as he had squandered his lunch break and hadn't even eaten anything yet. He did a quick lap of the room, looking over all the paintings, just in case something caught his attention—which it didn’t—and then headed back out into the hall.

Roxas glanced at the paintings lining the hall as he hurried to the elevator, hoping to grab something quick to eat from the café in the foyer before heading back to his station. But then he stopped, took a few steps back, and stared at the wall with its small unobtrusive painting, featuring a white landscape with forested hills, a creek crossing through, and a little town situated on a hill with a… church on said hill.

Roxas stared up at the painting and the unassuming wooden frame encasing it with a bronze plaque reading, _'Traumhafte Landschaft.'_ This didn't mean much to Roxas but the painting itself… he got a chill and his hairs raised. Was this _it?_ His gaze sat transfixed, a spooky familiarity rushed through him, but he turned away to head back down.

* * *

"Axel!”

"Axel!"

Roxas ran through the town, looking for the redhead. He found him up on the hill by the church.

"Axel!"

"Hey," Axel smiled, turning around from where he’d been staring out into the landscape.

Roxas puffed, catching his breath, "I found something at work!"

"What?"

"A painting!"

"A painting?"

"Yes, it looks exactly like here," Roxas gestured around the snowy land all about them. "It even has the church," he pointed, "and the town and river. It's got to be here."

"Okay," Axel frowned.

Roxas tilted his head, "You’re not excited?"

"Why would I be excited?”

“Because I found something that might explain all this?”

“And _this_ being that a painting is giving you this dream and that _I'm_ just a dream."

Roxas’ heart sank. He muttered, "I don't know."

"Hey, that's my line," Axel gave a sorrowful smile.

Roxas stepped closer, reached out and squeezed Axel's arm. "I'm sorry. I don't mean to make you sad."

"It's not you. I'm getting sad because I'm starting to think you might be right and I don't exist. I don't matter and I can't influence or control anything. When you're not here I don't exist,” Axel’s brows furrowed ever deeper. “When you leave it's like a light goes out and I find myself in a different place; in the town, in the woods. I blink, you’re gone, and I’m somewhere else, then I walk around until I find you or you find me. My world doesn't exist without you. Nothing feels real. I don't know what to make of that."

Roxas stepped close and wrapped Axel up in a hug. The other man leaned in, sighed, and wound his arms around Roxas, whether holding him or holding on Roxas couldn't tell. He hugged Axel a little tighter, savoring the touch. He didn’t know how Axel could feel so real and yet _not_ be real. A deep longing and wish to take Axel's sadness away roused inside himself. 

He raised his head, looking up to see bitter sadness wrinkling Axel's brow and distorting that flawless, beautiful face. If this was a dream why did Roxas' heart ache as if ready to break? "You feel real to me," he said quietly, reaching up, cupping the man's silky soft cheek. 

The sadness in Axel's eyes softened, though a strain sat atop of Axel's brows, creating a tension between a smile and a frown that twitched his lips. Shimmering spring green eyes beheld Roxas in silent reverie. He slipped his warm, gloved hand atop of Roxas' which rested on Axel's cheek, still cupping him. Axel held Roxas' hand with affection and nuzzled against it, squeezing his eyes shut. 'Thank you,' Axel mouthed, the deep well of sadness inside robbing him of his voice. 

Roxas yearned for every one of their atoms to touch, if only to reassure Axel that they both existed. He raised himself onto his toes, wanting to be closer. Axel opened his eyes. The virescent glint drew Roxas in, dark tattoos enticed, and red lips against a glorious pale face was as irresistible as a flower to a bee. Roxas wanted Axel to feel real, to feel like he was important to him, because he was.

Roxas stretched. Axel dipped. Their noses touched. Axel's eyes fluttered opened a little wider, dissolving the sadness. Their breaths misted and intermingled.

"Axel," Roxas husked, his lips feeling the warmth radiating faintly off Axel's skin.

"Roxas," Axel breathed out, his finger slipping under Roxas' chin, tilting him up a little more, and leaning down a fraction.

Roxas held his breath. Not a sound could be heard. Even the wind stopped as their lips grazed against one another.

The alarm blared and pierced. Roxas flung his eyes open, his heart racing, and his breathless huff's drowned out by the tumult. Sadness and frustration ripped through his chest over not getting enough time with Axel. He _hated_ waking up. Especially at that moment, when he had wanted to… to… he traced his lips with his fingers and cupped his cheek where Axel had held him, desperate to rekindle the feeling of it all. How could Axel not be real? Everything inside his body could attest to something real having happened. It couldn't all be in his head.

He puffed out the unease and got ready for work, desperate to get another look at the painting. It had to be the answer… or part of an answer. He looked forward to seeing Axel again very soon and maybe continuing on what he had wanted to start with the other man.

###### 

Again, lunchtime couldn’t come quick enough. Roxas got up to the last floor as fast as he could and stood before the painting, examining it in minute detail. His breath caught in his chest. He stepped closer, on tiptoes, staring intently at the painting; the hill had a little figure delicately painted on the canvas, all dressed in red.

“Axel,” he choked, reached out, and tentatively touched the figure. He couldn’t feel any of Axel’s warmth like he had in his dreams. All there was, was cold and slightly rough material under his fingertips. He dropped down, wiped at his eyes and stepped back a fraction. Had the figure _always_ been there? Roxas didn’t think so. He had been up on the hill with Axel last night. Was it really possible? Was Axel… _trapped_ inside the painting? It felt like his heart jolted to a stop. Roxas couldn’t leave him there. He went to grab the painting off the wall but stopped himself, his fingers trembling. He liked his job and didn’t want to get fired.

Roxas forced himself back downstairs, observing a distinct lack of security cameras on the top floor. Once he was back at his desk, he spent the rest of his workday formulating a plan on how to steal the painting and get it over to Naminé’s.

The whole process was deceptively easy. He went back up to the attic with a box of files to archive and on his way back, traded paintings with one he found in a forgotten dusty corner of the attic archive and stuffed the landscape into the box. He then stayed back until everyone in his office left for the day before transferring the painting into a large shopping bag he found in the lunchroom, and off he went, unquestioned. He was certain no one would miss the painting; he was the only one that cared about it.

###### 

He arrived at Naminé’s house jittery and excited.

“Here, this is it,” he said, pulling the painting out and laying it on her kitchen stone top like the most precious cargo in the world.

She examined the painting closely. “And you said this figure was _definitely_ not there when you saw it yesterday?”

“Definitely not.”

She picked up a large magnifying glass she had at the ready, eyeballing the red figure and gesturing for Roxas to have a look.

“Does this look like him? The man in your dreams?”

Roxas looked. He gasped and stared. He hadn’t been able to make out the details, but now he could. “Yeah, it’s him.” Complete with tattoos under his eyes, looking so sad. Roxas’ heart hurt.

Naminé hummed and quietly looked over the painting some more while Roxas stood back and worried at his lip.

“Have you ever seen anything like this? Could he _really_ be in there?” Roxas asked, after some time, growing restless over the way Naminé turned the painting over and over, and rubbed at the paint chips.

The look of concentration gave way to a worried expression. She excused herself and headed out of the kitchen, leaving Roxas to forlornly stare at the painting until she returned, carrying several books.

“I have heard about things like this happening; people getting trapped inside of objects. It’s all folklore, of course. Superstitions. And,” she flipped through some old and stained looking book, tracing her finger over the faded writing, “the stories usually say this happens to very dangerous people, or it could be used to protect very precious people.” She looked up at Roxas, the worry in her eyes ever-deepening.

Roxas closed his mouth and swallowed. “So… you’re saying… he’s real? He’s stuck?" he slapped his hands onto the stone benchtop, leaning in, "How do I get him out? What should I do?”

Naminé gave him a tense frown. “I never said he’s real. Don’t go jumping the gun. I’m just telling you of what _folklores_ ,” she stressed, “I’ve read about. I’ve never seen anything like this before. You need to be careful. I don’t know if this is real, but… just be careful. If there really _is_ a person in there… he might be in there for a very good reason.”

Roxas tasted bile at the back of his throat. The thought that Axel could be… “He’s… good. I know he’s good.”

“You _know_ or you want to _believe?_ People in terrible situations might say and do whatever they could to get out of it,” she said gravely.

Roxas grit his teeth and didn't have much to say about that. He left with the painting in his bag and Naminé’s words in his head. Unease and a surly mood weighed on him that evening. He carefully set the painting on his kitchen table, propped up against the wall. He stared at it and at Axel for a good long while, thinking about the possibility of a man stuck in a painting; his thoughts spun through the whys, the whats, and the hows of a person stuck inside a painting and what they might say or do to get out. It only grew his anxiety and his desperation to see Axel again.

* * *

Snow fell from the washed-out winter sky. Roxas wandered aimlessly for a while until it dawned on him that he knew that broken tree, that mossy well, and the quaint township. He awoke from the dreamy haze. “Axel,” he shouted, springing into a run.

He had no direction in mind though he found himself closing in on the town. He kept running, calling out for Axel every couple of steps. The frozen dirt underfoot gave way to cobbled streets. His hectic steps reverberated around the deserted town.

He heard his name echoing somewhere off in the distance and found Axel in a cobbled street outside the tavern, running toward him. They collided and embraced.

“Hello,” Axel chuckled as Roxas squeezed him tight and refused to let go.

“I’m so sorry about where we left it yesterday.”

“Huh?” 

They pulled apart. Roxas looked up intently. “You were feeling sad and I vanished.”

“Can’t be helped," through the sad sigh, Axel still smiled. "Do you want to go have a drink? I was in there when I heard you calling me.”

“Okay.” Roxas grabbed Axel’s hand and pulled him into the establishment to the sound of the man’s chuckles.

“You’re really grabby today, huh?”

Roxas ignored the remark and went over to the bar, where used mugs lined the bartop. “I’m dying to talk to you.”

“Oh, about what?” Axel went around the bar, grabbing clean mugs and pulling them some beers.

“You. I found you on the hill in the painting.”

Axel stared, the beer overflowed. “Shit.” Axel released the handle and slid the glass onto the bartop. Shaking his hand dry he said, “You found me? What do you mean?”

“In the painting. I found a red figure standing on the hill where we stood yesterday. I had a really close look. It was you. And it— _you_ —weren’t there the last time I saw the painting. You’re stuck inside it for some reason.”

“I’m stuck inside a painting?”

“Yes,” he nodded eagerly.

“You… believe that I’m _real?”_

Roxas caught himself and took a couple of breaths before he got carried away. “I don’t exactly know if you _physically_ ever existed, but… you are real to me. You’ve been real to me for a long time. Even if it’s not true… I want it to be true. I want you to be real. You _are_ real to me,” he echoed the words and feelings from yesterday and reached across the bar for Axel, who took his hand. They squeezed each other reassuringly.

“Thank you, Roxas,” Axel said with the gentlest undertone.

“I’m going to work from the premise that you _are_ stuck, so… I’ll get you out of that painting, one way or another. I’ll figure something out.”

Axel took a deep breath, squeezed Roxas’ hand harder, let go, and climbed up and over the bar. Roxas leaned away from long legs coming over the top of the surface and got scooped up into a tight, warm embrace once Axel landed on the other side.

“Thank you so much,” Axel murmured into Roxas’ ear, cuddling him.

Axel’s breath and touch were so warm. Roxas melted into him, squeezing the other man back. “I’d like to pick up where we left off yesterday.”

“Oh, Roxas,” Axel hugged him tighter and nuzzled him. “I’d like that.” Axel tilted Roxas’ chin up and leaned down. They breathed against each other, scorching and moist. Roxas looked at ruby lips, bedazzling eyes, and felt his heartbeat through his entire body.

“Axel,” Roxas murmured, leaning forward, just a fraction, connecting them with a gentle peck. Flutters erupted. Roxas felt the smile against his mouth and chased after Axel as the man drew off, and kissed him deeper. Axel leaned in, holding Roxas firm and opened his mouth, lapping against Roxas’ delving tongue. Roxas gasped into Axel’s mouth, getting picked up and sat atop the bar. They kept kissing, slow motions and sucks turning heated and needy. Roxas ran his hands through Axel’s hair, and Axel groped and kneaded Roxas’ waist.

“I want you so bad,” Axel husked between sucking kisses.

“Me too.” Roxas squeezed the side of Axel’s head between his palms and kissed him harder. 

Axel’s gloved fingers fiddled with Roxas’ pants and touched and stroked him through clothes. Roxas gasped.

"Can I touch you? Suck on you?" Axel asked. 

Roxas whimpered and nodded, grabbing Axel by the lapels of his coat and pulled him into and smothering kiss. 

Axel's tongue entered him and his fingers undid Roxas' pants. He grabbed and thumbed and jerked. Roxas gasped and moaned and watched Axel descend and take his shaft into his mouth.

Roxas threw his head back and groaned at the intense feelings inside himself. He gripped Axel’s hair and felt dizzy from the way Axel’s tongue lapped and his lips sucked.

Roxas gripped Axel's shoulder and hair as he moaned from the intense desire stoked inside himself. Warmth spread through his entire body. Axel’s quiet murmuring sounds of pleasure caused flutters to erupt within himself. He had thought about this, toyed with the idea in his daydreams, but to have it be real? To have Axel licking his head, sucking at his slit, pumping his shaft… Roxas groaned from the pit of his stomach.

It was so real. Much more real than his passing fantasies. He felt himself losing control and pushed up into Axel’s hot wet mouth, to urge on his pleasure and climax.

Roxas woke with a start, sitting upright in bed. His heart pounded, sweat beaded, his pulse throbbed and alerted him to the stiffness in his boxer shorts. He flung himself back against his pillow and groaned, but it turned into a woeful sob. Slamming his fist against his mattress he let out a strained, _“Fuck.”_

His eyes sprang wide open, he flung his blanket aside and ran to the kitchen. He skidded to a stop as he turned on the light and squinted at the painting which still sat on his dining table.

“Axel? Axel! Can you hear me?” He looked at the hill but Axel was gone. Roxas’ heart thundered. Axel had moved. He _was_ in the painting—at the tavern! “If you can hear me… I’m so sorry. I want you. I’ll make it right. I’ll get you out.” He sniffled and thought himself ridiculous. Axel surely wouldn’t be able to hear. All he could do was try and go back to sleep and maybe, _just maybe_ since he had the painting in his house, he might dream of Axel again before morning.

###### 

He woke up in the morning, groaning with frustration. He got ready for work, saying good morning to the painting, disregarding how stupid he felt, and headed off. He could hardly wait to finish his day, get home, and sleep, figuring that maybe the dream only came once per night.

He received a phone call from Naminé before midday, asking him if he had dreamed of the snowy place. He told her what had happened; Axel moving, and not the lusty incident in the tavern. She hummed a lot and sounded tense. Roxas was surprised to hear that Naminé hadn’t experienced any dreams of the place haunting Roxas’ nights.

They both agreed to wait and see what would happen the following night.

When he woke the next morning without a dream he freaked out. Had he broken the painting? Was Axel okay? He called Naminé in a panic. She calmed him and suggested he take the painting back to where it belongs, as places held power and memories. 

Roxas did as she suggested and waited with bated breath for sleep to take him.

He found himself in Axel’s arms, the man’s kisses raining over him, and hot breath blowing against his skin in the middle of the cold forest.

Roxas cried. "I'm so glad you're okay."

"Why wouldn't I be, sweetheart?"

"Because I didn't see you last night. I had to put the painting back and now it's working again and I get to see you." He rubbed his face against Axel's chest and hugged him fiercely. 

Axel reciprocated and ruffled Roxas' hair. "I'm okay. Are you?"

Roxas nodded and looked up at Axel with his beautiful face and hair and eyes. He wiped at his tears. "The last time we saw each other…"

Axel chuckled and his cheeks warmed with a pink hue.

Roxas flushed as well. “Was it strange when I disappeared?” he asked.

“Honestly… I don’t recall. What about you? Did I make you all hot,” Axel nudged Roxas playfully.

“You did, but I was too annoyed about waking up to do anything about it.”

"Aww. Sweetheart. That's not good. Do you want to try again? See if I can get you all the way there without you waking you?"

Roxas nodded and the next thing he knew he was in Axel's small abode where the fire crackled and heat spread inside and outside of Roxas as he made out heavily with Axel on plush fur which lay on the floor before the fire. They kissed each other's lips and every inch of exposed skin as their hands traveled over each other, slipping and tugging off one another's clothes.

They lay together, naked, kissing, rolling around. Roxas giggled. “Is this a bear-skin rug?”

Axel stopped sucking on Roxas’ neck to have a look. “I believe so. Why is that funny?”

“It’s so cliché.”

“Cliché?” Axel tilted his head.

Roxas tittered and hooked his legs around Axel’s hips. “Overused.”

“Is it?”

Roxas hummed with fading amusement. “I guess you wouldn’t know.” He grabbed at the back of Axel’s head, pushing him down into a kiss and rolled them both over. Roxas kissed his way down Axel’s lean, creamy body, to the dark red hairs growing wild around his stiff cock. Roxas grabbed the swollen base and pumped the man leisurely, smirking up and watching Axel writhe with delight.

“I’d like to make you cum. I’d like to taste you.”

Axel nodded and mewled. His hands went to Roxas’ head, tangling in his short blond locks and Roxas rubbed Axel’s cockhead against his lips, teasing the man with tiny licks. He grew tired of his own teasing though and quickly succumbed to opening his mouth and sucking on the engorged head. Soft, hot, leaking, Roxas grazed his teeth and hollowed his cheeks, taking Axel ever further into himself.

“Sweetheart, my sweetheart,” Axel sang and canted his hips, pushing into Roxas. 

Smirking, Roxas sucked harder, fondled Axel’s tight sac and rubbed the pads of his fingers down against the man’s anus. He gently pushed into the tight heat, sending himself dizzy with desire, and launching Axel into a squirming fit of ecstasy.

Roxas’ mouth filled with Axel’s release and the man trembled and squeaked in such an adorable fashion. Roxas swallowed down the last drop, smiling from ear to ear and pulled off Axel’s wilting cock. He stretched up and kissed Axel, who snapped his arms around Roxas, kissed him fervently and squeezed the last breath out of him.

Roxas chuckled. “Did I blow your mind?”

Axel nodded, wordlessly flapping his mouth and panting.

“I’d like to fuck your ass,” Roxas breathed against Axel’s ear and received a squeak and a thousand little nods.

They kissed some more. Axel’s hand grasped and pumped Roxas’ head for a few moments, playing with his slit before the man spread his legs so Roxas could nestle between his limbs. Axel positioned Roxas and slowly, groaning from sheer pleasure, Roxas pushed into the breathtaking tight heat. 

A rusty moan left Axel and he held Roxas under his arms with a vice-like grip. They panted as Roxas rutted against Axel, gasping for breath, stretching and reaching for quick kisses.

Roxas mewled and canted his hips ever faster, chasing his impending orgasm. “Fuck. Yes. Fuck. Nngh. Ax-el. Fu-uck,” he grunted, thrusting himself into delirium.

The soft human warmth under him vanished, his face was pressed up against his pillow, but the need to orgasm sat right in his gut. He found himself humping his mattress and ground his cock hard against the material. He dove his hand into his sleeping shorts and jacked off for fevered seconds, trying to cling on to the feel of Axel around his cock, and trying to recollect that adorable squeak in his ears. He came and slumped against his bed, panting like a locomotive, and uttering, “Fuck,” every couple of breaths, while his heart jackhammered and his entire body buzzed and throbbed.

His alarm hadn’t even gone off yet.

“Fuck,” he snarled into his pillow. He really needed to get Axel out of that painting.

###### 

He devoted his weekend to researching the history of his work building and the history of the painting, since he had nothing else he could do, and seeing Axel again wouldn't happen until he got back to work.

He went to the local and state libraries. His weekend was over in a blur and then he went back to work, penciling in a trip to the attic each day in his calendar.

He looked through the archives whilst up there, searching for anything useful. And when he saw Axel in his dreams he made sure they talked before getting up to the fun stuff, since Roxas annoyingly always woke up just before he felt ready to cum.

He interrogated Axel, asking him if there were any clues they could try and find within the dream itself, in regards to Axel’s existence. Axel said he'd never found anything, but then again didn't have much time to look in between reuniting with Roxas.

Every avenue Roxas could think of trying seemed to lead to a dead end. But he couldn’t give up and tried to keep his and Axel’s spirits up. He convinced Axel to partake in some experimentation: they went to spots that Roxas thought he'd be able to see in the painting and then they'd make out, as it seemed to trigger Roxas to wake up every time without fail.

Consistently, Axel appeared in the places Roxas left him at. It got Roxas thinking and working on gaining greater control over his dreams. He spoke to Naminé to get some more pointers. Yet, she was mostly full of worry and discouraged Roxas from letting Axel out.

"Why? Did you find anything?"

_"Nothing substantial, but I keep worrying about why he's in there. He remembers nothing of his past?"_

"Nothing."

_"Does he know how long he's been stuck in there for?"_

Roxas shook his head and said, "No," as Naminé was on the phone to him.

She hummed in thought. _"Could_ you _gauge what century he's from?"_

"Huh?"

_"Ask him about stuff. Does he know how a telephone works? About photography? Computers? Does he know we landed on the moon? You know, that sort of thing."_

"Ahhh… yeah, okay, I can do that."

_"Good. It will help narrow things down."_

So Roxas spoke with Axel at length to find out that the man knew about print and telephones but seemed perplexed about anything more advanced than that. It got Axel very curious and he asked Roxas to fill him in on history and what other things had been invented. 

Though Roxas _definitely_ wanted to help, it proved an arduous task. He was hampered by the fact that he didn’t have access to his phone or the internet, which he bemoaned, and then bemoaned some more because he didn’t know how to explain the internet to Axel. Despite being awake in his dream he still felt a mind fog surrounding him, so even the things he knew about, were difficult to express and explain.

Nonetheless, Axel listened to everything Roxas had to say with sheer wonder on his face. He remarked how he couldn't wait to see it all for himself, but the days and weeks passed and he grew despondent. No matter how hard Roxas concentrated or tried he couldn’t improve or make any headway in changing their surrounding dreamscape. It was enough to depress Roxas as well. 

They were at Axel’s place, Roxas sat on a chair, concentrating hard on forcing something in the dream to change. Axel meanwhile sat on a settee he’d taken from a nicer part of town and kept himself occupied by throwing bits of timber into the crackling fire, which stood at one end of Axel’s living room. How long they spent like that Roxas couldn’t say, but even for dream time, it felt like a long while. Roxas stopped trying to change things and watched Axel quietly, observing the sullen expression and how the frown grew ever deeper with time. 

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have promised that I could change our location to somewhere like my home," Roxas said, bitter over his plan failing. He had hoped to will his bedroom into existence, so that when he awoke he’d have Axel wake right alongside him. It’s the only thing that Roxas could think of, seeing how Axel seemed to materialize in the painting wherever they left off in the dream.

Axel sighed heavily and tossed the twigs all in one go into the fire, “Maybe this won’t work. Maybe we should stop trying.”

“Don’t say that.” Roxas sat down next to him, his hand on the man’s knee, wishing he knew how to be comforting and reassuring.

Axel made sad eyes at him and furrowed his brow ever so slightly. "I hate it,” he said quietly. “I hate being stuck here. I hate knowing of all the wonderful things happening in life outside and me being a prisoner in this place for reasons I don't know and can never know."

"I'm sorry for getting your hopes up. I’ll try harder, I swear." Roxas squeezed Axel’s leg.

"No, don't be sorry. You are wonderful. You’re doing your best. I appreciate you completely.”

“But it’s not good enough,” he rumbled with anger sitting in his chest. “I want you out of here. I feel like it’s all my fault that you’re feeling down,” Roxas muttered, dejected.

“No, sweetheart,” Axel turned and cupped Roxas’ cheek. “I'm glad you woke me up from my dream. I'm glad to know you and for you to keep me company. It makes it bearable. But," a dreary-sounding sigh seeped out, "I’m really worried. How long can you keep going?"

"Huh?"

"You said I've possibly been stuck in here for two centuries? And look at me; I’m handsome and attractive,” a weak smile passed over Axel’s face before it plummeted. “What'll happen to you though? What happens when you get old and—" he choked out, "die. What will I do with myself? I won't exist, but… if you never come back I'll feel it. Somehow, I know I'll feel it."

"Oh, Axel." Roxas hugged him. “I won’t let that happen. I’ll get you out, somehow. I’ll read more books. I’ll try to find a connection between that stupid painting and my work building. There’s gotta be something there. I couldn’t forgive myself if you’re stuck in here forever.”

Axel groaned in sadness and pushed Roxas away a little, looking at him. “I can't bear the thought of you suffering; of you being upset over me.” He frowned and his eyes darted as if searching for something. He stopped and looked at Roxas, blinking rapidly. “I’ve got it!”

“What?”

“I want you to paint over me.”

Roxas leaned back. _“What?”_

Elation started lifting Axel’s sorrowful expression. “Yes,” he jumped up, clapping his hands together, “I'll go up on the hill and when you find me in the painting you paint over me.”

“Are you insane?” Roxas snapped. “No. I can't do that. We don't know what that’ll do to you.”

“But we can guess. It’ll erase me.”

“Kill you, you mean.” Roxas’ heart hammered in his chest. He couldn’t frown any harder if he tried.

“Yes. That is what I mean. Get rid of me. I don’t want to be here. I don’t want to cause you pain.”

“I can't kill you. That’ll kill _me!”_

That seemed to put a stop to Axel’s jovial mood. His expression crumpled and he knelt down before Roxas, taking up his hands. “It won’t. It’ll free you to live your life. I can’t stand the thought of you looking through dusty old books to try and save me. I want you to spend your time doing all the wonderful things you tell me your world has to offer.”

“None of that means anything without you.” Roxas could feel the tears filling his eyes.

Axel squeezed his hands, frowned, and slowly said, “I’m nothing, Roxas. I’m just a figure in a painting. It’s fine. Free us both of this hell.”

“No. I can’t. You're real to me,” Roxas blubbered. 

Axel sucked in some air. He squeezed and rubbed Roxas’ hands tenderly. Calmly, he said, “I need you to paint over me. By rights, I should already be dead. If I’m as old as you think I am we should never have met.”

Roxas blinked rapidly, trying to see through his blurry vision. “But we _have_ met. And I want you. I want to show you everything in the world. I want to explore it all with _you.”_

“Roxas,” Axel winced. “How can you be so sweet and affectionate? You don’t know me. Why would you want to put yourself through all of this pain for me?”

“Because… wouldn’t you do whatever you could for me?”

“I would. I want to, which is why I’m asking you to paint over me.” 

“I can’t,” Roxas sobbed and squeezed his eyes shut. “I want you to stay with me.”

“I don’t deserve you. I don’t deserve this much devotion and care from someone so kind and generous as you.”

“Why not?” Roxas sniffled, wiping at his eyes and holding Axel’s hands again.

“Because… I don’t feel worthy of it.”

“You are.”

“I can’t be. I wouldn’t be cursed and trapped in here if I didn't do something wrong.”

“I don’t believe that. And… and even if you _did_ do _something…_ no one deserves to be stuck in a place like this.”

“But what if I do? What if I’m a bad person like that dream girl seems to think I am? What if I hurt you?”

“You wouldn’t. You’ve been so nice to me. She doesn’t know you. All she knows is what she’d read in old fairy tales. It doesn’t _mean_ anything. You wouldn’t hurt me. Why would you think that?”

Axel breathed out a deep breath, “Because I don’t know myself. I don’t know who I am or why I’m here. I probably deserve to be here.”

“No matter what you might have done you don’t deserve eternal punishment for it,” Roxas spat.

“But maybe I do.”

“Axel,” Roxas groaned and sniffed.

“No, listen to me. What if me being nice is all an act I’m putting on? A desperate attempt to get out of here?” Axel’s eyes widened.

Sickness swirled inside Roxas. “Are you?”

Axel looked away and huffed sadly.

“You don’t know. I know you don’t know yourself. And that… that’s great,” he tried to sound upbeat, “You can be whoever you want to be now. You don’t have to let the past define you. You can change and be better, and if you don’t remember anything when I get you out of here, then even better. A clean slate.”

“But what if I’m a monster and I remember everything and go back to being that way?”

Roxas looked at Axel for a long time. His soul ached, yet his head knew it was a very sensible question; one he’d been avoiding thinking about. “Then I hope you also remember the time we spent together in here because this is who you are to me; sweet, and funny, and really cheeky. Maybe you got on some old witch's nerves so much for throwing snowballs that she damned you to spend forever in here?”

Axel chuckled through his sadness and wiped at his eyes, sniffling a little. “Thank you for always making me feel better. For making me laugh. For keeping me company. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“I won’t let you be without me. I’m getting you out of here. I’m not going to paint over you. Not until I know I can’t go back to see you. Not until I know I’ve tried _everything_ possible. Not until I’m nearly dead. If it takes that long it’ll take that long. I don’t care. No way do you deserve this. I won’t have it.”

“Sweetheart,” Axel lay his head in Roxas’ lap and cried.

After that sad day, both men made a concerted effort to systematically search through the town for clues. It wore on Roxas, because his nightly downtime was spent mentally working, and his awake daytime was spent physically working, and searching for _more_ clues. He was burning the candle on both ends, yet he was also desperate to get Axel out of the painting.

That sentiment was reinforced on the occasions he saw Axel in the painting as he passed by. Axel’s words to paint over him came to mind, and each time it initiated a tremble through his body. He couldn’t do it. Would _never_ do it.

But as the weeks went on with nothing to show for, Axel’s words and the reality of their situation hit closer to home. He’d rather free Axel by painting over him than have the man trapped in there forever.

Luckily, a breakthrough _did_ come one day and with excitement in his chest, he waited to drop off to sleep at the end of the day.

* * *

“So I found these architectural plans that showed the history of the building I work in. It was modeled after a library from the eighteenth century.”

“And?”

“And… I, um… looked it up but couldn't find any trace of the library."

Axel sighed. "Another dead end?"

"Not a dead end."

"But not an answer either."

"I'm sorry."

Axel reached for Roxas and pulled him into his arms. They stood together in the marketplace. "Do you really think that looking into the history of your work building will help?"

"It's the only lead I have. There's gotta be a reason why the painting only works when it's at work. Maybe there's a connection. I know it was built in the nineteenth century so it can't be the actual building since you are older than that… probably."

"Hey!"

They exchanged soft smiles, leaned toward one another, and shared a quick kiss. They hadn't attempted to be intimate with each other for a long while now. Roxas didn't want to keep waking up all the time when there were important truths to be found, but he also really missed running hands all over each other.

"You know…" Axel slowly began, "I think there's a library here."

"Yeah? We should check it out."

Axel tentatively led the way. They walked down several cobblestone roads leading into a different precinct where something that looked like a town hall stood as well as a building with pillars.

"Oh wow. That looks like where I work, sort of, but smaller,” Roxas remarked as he looked at a single-story version of his work building.

"Really?" Axel marveled at the structure. "Let's go."

Roxas found it strange that they hadn't been to this part of town before now, but that didn’t dampen his enthusiasm; it heightened it. They went inside to find a short hallway, which opened up to a large hall with rows upon rows of bookcases. The inside was poorly lit but the large windows filtered in enough daylight. Had it been night the lamps wouldn’t have done much, Roxas suspected. But it was always daytime in his dream, so he’d never be able to test his assumption. Instead, he absorbed the sight and let out an impressed, “Wow.”

“Does it look like where you work?”

Roxas shook his head. “The outside did, but this… not at all.” He whirled around to face Axel, wearing a big grin, “Maybe it’s close enough!”

“What?”

“The outside.”

“Oh. So… you think if I stand outside maybe…”

“Yeah! Maybe… I mean… I don’t know. It’s worth a shot. I have work tomorrow so…” his excitement made him giddy and bounce lightly with joy, “I might just see you.” His cheeks strained from the grin.

Axel fared much the same. They embraced, squeezing each other tight and then headed outside again, to wait around the entry door.

“Wait for me. If you find yourself in a strange place just wait for me. There’s a Starbucks across the road you can wait at if you get too cold. Winter’s almost here.”

“What? Winter? An eternity of winter and I’ll get _more_ winter when I’m out?” Axel laughed with glee.

“Afraid so, but at least my winter only lasts three months and there’s no snow.”

“Thank goodness. I hate the snow. Hate the cold. When I'm out I want us to go somewhere hot with warm water.”

Roxas laughed. “You got it. I’ll take you to a beach.”

They cuddled each other, sank down to the floor to sit with their backs pressed against the stone wall and waited for Roxas to wake up to see what would happen. 

“Mmm, so tell me, what’s a Star Buck?”

###### 

Roxas awoke and hurried to get ready for work. He left early, finding himself almost running to the steps of his place of employment. He huffed and puffed. He looked around. A flash of red caught his eye immediately, but it was a woman with a very bright shawl. He called out Axel’s name once, waited, and then headed to Starbucks. 

He also didn’t find Axel there. With a sinking heart, he headed into work, checked the painting and waited for home time.

* * *

He found Axel near the library. The somber look on the man’s face reflected Roxas’ own internal troubles. The unspoken promise that Roxas would paint over Axel felt heavy between them. The higher their hopes the greater the fall when those loose ends eventuated in nothing. It was getting a bit much. But Roxas didn’t want Axel to despair any further.

“Let’s go inside. Maybe we missed something.”

They looked around. Axel was only so much help since he’d never learned to read, yet he was still the one who found the section on the history of the building they stood in.

Roxas held the heavy tome, marveling at the detailed illustrations and cursive penmanship and fanciful chaptered titles. He browsed through the book as best he could, for a large portion of the content seemed like gibberish to him. 

“This has to be real,” he muttered.

“Pardon?”

“I said this has to be real. There’s so much detail in this book. I can’t dream this up.”

“You still think this is all imaginary?” The sadness was unmistakable in Axel’s voice.

“I know you are real. But I thought the town… I don’t know. It’s a bit strange to think all this exists inside a painting, don’t you think? There’s so much detail. This is really a different place… but does it exist in my world? Is it in the painting?” He shrugged.

Axel remained quiet, shuffling around while Roxas deciphered what he could.

“I think this place is based on a church from the seventeenth century?” Roxas eventually said.

Axel, who had found a chair to recline on a while ago, sat up straight. “What did you say? A church?” He got up and came over to stand by Roxas.

“Yes, see… here’s a picture.” Roxas’ grin began forming, along with Axel’s.

“Let’s go!”

They left everything on the tables and stepped outside into the cold, heading for the hill, and the location of their next target on their strange scavenger hunt.

“Have you ever been inside the church?” Roxas asked as they went.

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Churches… aren't my thing?” Axel shrugged.

Roxas gave him a wary look.

“Are you thinking I'm Satan?”

“No, never” Roxas shook the thought from his head.

They got to the hill relatively quickly and pushed the large wooden doors open quietly. The smell of frankincense wafted through the air. Despite no one being around to play music or sing a hymn, it felt like the place resonated with the memory of melody. They headed in further, their quiet footfalls reverberating in the chasm of ornate fixtures and around the lofty ceiling. Statues of brightly colored deities stood around, passing judgment, and offering a comforting outstretched hand to those who’d take it.

There were pillars, and it reminded Roxas of work. He could see the resemblance and inspiration. He kept walking and stood before the pulpit, looking up in awe at the delicate stained glass window directly behind it and how imposing the large A-frame roof structure was.

“It’s beautiful,” he remarked under his breath and then turned to look for Axel.

The man stood before a statue of what was probably the Virgin Mary. He held her hand and seemed transfixed.

“Axel,” Roxas called out but received no response. He headed over and when he reached Axel touched his shoulder. “Axel?” he tried again, gently.

Axel sniffled, let go and turned around, wiping at his eyes.

“What’s wrong?”

“I don’t know,” but Axel smiled softly.

They stayed in the church for a while, looking for clues, but found none.

“Should we stay here until you wake up?” Axel asked.

“Mmm… it's the weekend tomorrow. If this place does work I won't be able to come and get you for another two days. I don't want someone else to find you and you get in trouble for trespassing or something."

"Fair point. So what should we do?"

"I’d like to go back to the library. See if we missed anything there.”

“Sure."

They only got so far as the hill before Roxas woke up, cursing his luck.

###### 

Roxas sat in his apartment alone with his thoughts for the better part of the weekend. Olette asked him out for dinner and he figured he needed it, feeling deprived of human interaction, despite only wanting to be with Axel. 

He also talked to Naminé, explaining what he had found. She was neither encouraging or discouraging of Roxas’ efforts but was overtly wary whenever they spoke.

The workweek resumed. Roxas went with eagerness, desperately needing to spend time with Axel again. But he couldn't. The whole upper floor was closed off because of the renovation and restoration that took place.

"Since when was this decided?"

"A month ago," said Trevor, one of Roxas' colleagues. "It was in an email. Do you want me to resend it to you?"

"Yes, please." Roxas was certain he'd never received it. As an intern, he got left out of most of the goings-on at the large firm.

He read the email, which talked about modernizing the top floor and cleaning it up. It was estimated to take a week.

Reality turned it into two weeks. Two weeks of anxiety and worry. What if they removed the painting? Roxas felt sick.

The day the top floor was reopened the whole building showed up for canapés and hors d’oeuvres during the lunchtime grand unveiling. Roxas was there too, of course. He barely noticed the plush carpets, the brighter lighting, or the fresh paint job on the walls of the hall. His eyes searched for Axel's painting. It wasn't in its usual spot, which sickened Roxas. It was nowhere to be found, along with a large number of previously displayed paintings. They were all gone. His hands turned clammy. 

He couldn’t even pay attention to handsome, tall, glint-in-his-eyes Chris when the man came and spoke to him directly. He was too busy scanning the surroundings and excused himself, needing to be somewhere else. 

As he wandered around he overheard a conversation with a woman who spoke about the paintings. He patiently waited to speak with her, asked about the painting in question and got taken down the hall to a room that contained nothing but boxes.

"All these paintings have been cleaned and marked for reselling."

Roxas felt sick. "Cleaned? What does that involve?"

“The frames were wiped down and any grime removed from the actual canvases."

He looked through a box of roughly the same sized paintings like the one Axel was trapped in and found it. He pulled it out and looked at it, his arms trembling.

“Ah, that painting is so beautiful and serene," she said over Roxas' shoulder, looking at what he was admiring. "It also had some really stubborn spots, I was told, but the white of the snow almost sparkles now. It’s really such a shame to waste good art in a place like this. It gets too hot and cold, degrading the artworks."

Roxas felt sick. Axel wasn’t on the hill. Had he been…. The woman’s words snapped him out of his panic as she started talking again, “Some of the art we found up here is really fragile. This one, for example, is estimated to be from the seventeenth century. An original that had been in P. G Herman‘s family for generations.”

Roxas recognized that name. It was the name of the law firm and building. “Is it worth much?”

“Possibly. All the paintings have to be taken out for an appraisal.”

“If it’s been in the family for generations, why is it being sold?” Roxas’ fingers grew clammy. He clutched the frame tight, to steady his trembling arms.

“It could be worth _a lot_ of money,” she said simply. “This one, in particular, has historic value. A museum or art gallery might want to acquire it, which would be a much better home for something like this, rather than a hallway no one visits, don’t you think?”

Roxas could have screamed then. He’d have to figure out where the painting would be sold to and would then have to go visit and possibly pay an admission fee to see Axel. He’d never be able to paint over the man if there was security around. His vision speckled a little and a high pitched ringing sounded in his ears. “When are the paintings being moved?” he somehow managed to get out.

It all got worse as the woman said, “We need to seal them and they’ll be shipped tomorrow.”

Roxas froze, turned to stone. _Tomorrow?_ This was all happening _tomorrow?_ He’d never felt so ill in his entire life. He clenched his hands around the frame of the painting. An urge to push the lady down a cliff and make a run for it with the painting overcame him. Was he too late though? Had someone already erased—he couldn't think that way or he'd throw up. He wanted to see Axel. _Needed_ to see him. There was no time. He barely contained the sob and tears. He’d run out of time. He only had tonight left. And if Axel was somehow still safe inside the painting he'd… have to… paint…. "Thank you for showing it to me," he got out stiffly.

Roxas needed a plan and he needed one quick. His brain felt like mush though.

A bell sounded and the lady announced that it was time for everyone to gather in the hallway again. She wouldn’t leave Roxas alone, so he had to go, yet it felt like death relinquishing Axel’s painting and stowing it back in the box. 

He left the room but kept his eye on the door which Axel (hopefully still) temporarily lived behind as they were all ushered into the archive space.

No longer was it gloomy. Most of the clutter had been moved or thrown out, leaving the filing cabinets in neat rows. The floorboards were polished and the walls painted a clean white. But what Roxas stared at were the large dark A-framed beams, which he knew had always been there but looked more grandiose now that all the clutter was gone. They funneled the viewer's eye to the stunning stained glass window which shone brightly with the midday sun catching it and casting a kaleidoscope of vibrant color over the floor.

Roxas' throat went dry. Had this _always_ been here? He couldn't remember seeing a window. He barely heard the speech and the explanation of how this stained glass window, and a lot of the now-stowed-away paintings, had been taken from somewhere for safekeeping. Though he did catch mentions of an old church burning down.

All Roxas felt was an eerie sense of familiarity; as if stuck in the dream—in the church… with Axel…. Somehow _this_ was the answer. The attic.

A tremendous urge to run home so he could sleep bombarded him. But he couldn’t go home. It would be too late. He had to stay behind… somehow and do… _something._

An opportunity presented itself after everyone went back to their appropriate floors. Roxas actually, legitimately, had a lot of filing to get done, so he grabbed all his archive boxes worth of stuff before it was home time and headed up to the attic. Lucky for him, the new security cameras weren’t all operational yet, a bit of important information he had weaseled out of someone working in the IT department. So whatever he was going to do he had to do it tonight.

Nervous, yet defiant, he got Axel’s painting out of the box and headed to the archival hall. He suspected security would be around at some point to check that everything was quiet, so he hid as best he could amongst the decluttered space. He found a desk in a corner, behind a row of filing cabinets. He planned to hide and sleep under the table, so he stashed his bag and painting under there. It already began feeling drafty, so he was thankful for having packed a spare sweater, to hopefully prevent him from freezing during the night. 

With his hideout all prepared he got to work sorting and stowing the archival materials away, as not to appear overly suspicious. 

He felt sick and anxious. He didn’t know what he should do. He was ill-prepared. All he had found for painting over Axel was some correction fluid. Tears welled just thinking about it. But he’d promised. 

After he had done his archival work he tried to get to sleep, huddled under the desk, using his bag as a pillow and his other sweater as a dismal blanket. He hoped he’d get to sleep, and fast.

* * *

"Axel!" he screamed as he ran through the woods. "Axel!" He kept shouting, getting frantic and close to tears by the time a familiar voice sang out to him and the man in question came running down the town path and into the woods Roxas had been navigated his way out of.

They collided. Roxas sobbed from relief and clung on tight. "I thought I lost you," he blubbered and squeaked.

Axel hugged him ever so tight. "What's happened to make you worry so much, sweetheart?" He cupped Roxas' cheek and pushed Roxas' chin up with his finger under it, smiling with worry and care.

Roxas hugged him again, got a little more crying out of the way and then collected himself. "We have to hurry." He pulled Axel along.

"Where are we going?"

"The church."

He filled Axel in on everything that had happened as they rushed through the quiet streets.

"And you thought I had been cleaned away?"

"Yes," Roxas clenched his jaw against that thought. "I left you on the church hill. You should have been there but you weren't."

"There have been a good lot of people in and out of the town lately. I thought it better to hide inside."

"People?" Roxas didn't stop, but threw a glance over his shoulder.

"Yes. They were all dreaming, not like you."

"Must have been all the workers?"

"Possibly."

They made it to the church and Roxas ushered Axel inside.

"So what do we do now?"

“I… don’t know. I’ve only got one shot at this with you. We either stay here and wait until I wake up, or we wait outside so I can,” he took a deep breath, “erase you.”

“Oh.”

“When I wake up the paintings all get taken away and I won’t be able to see you again.” He fought against his tears.

Axel sucked in air past his teeth. “Do you think staying in here will work?”

“I… I _hope?_ This window," Roxas pointed at the stained glass, "is _exactly_ like the one at work. I think… if you'd get rid of all the benches and pillars and statues… the attic looks exactly like this. I can't dream up a real place for you to wake up in, but we have one right here. It's our best and _only_ chance. I… I stayed back at work. I’m at work right now.” Axel stared at Roxas, his eyes growing wider as Roxas explained, “Sleeping under a desk. My body and my mind are in the same place. At least… I hope I am. Your painting will be sold. I _have_ to get you out of here. And do it _now_ or I have to… have to…" he swallowed.

Axel enveloped him and held him tight.

"We only have one chance. I can't come back and dream of you. We either stay in here or go outside. I… I don't know what to do. I can't… I just can't…" Roxas gripped Axel with all his strength.

"Oh, Roxas. My sweetheart. My darling. You are so brave,” Axel murmured and kissed the top of Roxas’ head. “I want to try this with you. If it doesn’t work, I’ll either try and stay awake enough to get myself out of the church and onto the hill so you can erase me, or… well… I want to try with you. Eternal damnation is fine. Not trying with you right here, right now, isn’t.”

Roxas sniffled, hating how grim the situation was. "Promise you won't murder me if you get out and turn out to be some strange, sexy demon? And that you won't destroy the planet?"

Axel chuckled and swept the hair out of Roxas' eyes. "I love you too much for any of that."

Roxas stopped breathing. "You… _love_ me?" he croaked.

Axel stared in surprise, but his expression softened and he nodded. "I love you," he husked with a gentle smile lifting his lips and mellowing his gaze.

Roxas squeezed Axel incredibly tight, wanting to meld into one with him. "I love you, too."

They hugged ever tighter and Roxas couldn’t be sure who initiated it, but they found themselves on the stone floor, kneeling and hastily unbuckling each other’s pants while they kissed with fevered zeal.

“We’re going to hell for this,” Roxas panted, conscious of their surroundings.

“I’m already there. This will be sweet heaven.” Axel pushed Roxas down onto his back and pumped both their shafts with his hand while he kissed Roxas deeply. 

Roxas lifted his hips, his pants slid down and Axel aligned himself, pushing into Roxas gently. Roxas groaned, loving the simplicity of the dream world, but also aware of what would happen if they took this too far.

“Stop,” he held Axel’s shoulders and watched the look of pure pleasure on Axel’s face melt away a little, even as he continued to rock in and out of Roxas.

“Hmm?” Axel murmured.

“If we do this, I’ll wake up. I haven’t spent enough time with you.”

The bliss washed away and Axel stilled all his motions. “This will work,” yet Axel’s reassurance felt hollow. They had both been disappointed countless times before. Neither had any hope left; it was their bitter truth.

“Axel—”

“Please… Roxas… if this is our last time together… I want us to _be_ together.”

They looked at each other. Roxas’ heart ached.

“I don’t want this to be over. I don’t want this to be our last time.”

With a strained edge, Axel said, “Then maybe this will be our first, hmm? And no matter what… I’ll go slow. Take my time with you. Make you enjoy,” Axel dragged his hips back slowly. Roxas gasped, “every minute,” he slammed back in, “of it,” and pulled back out.

Strong pleasure coursed through Roxas. He _had_ to stay positive because if everything went bad, and he couldn’t have this with Axel now, he’d miss never having tried for the rest of his life. He took a deep breath and nodded, pulled Axel against himself to resume their kiss. Axel canted his hips, developing a sensational rhythm. They mouthed against each other and Roxas desperately jerked himself from time to time. Their moans filled the sanctum. Their sweat dripped against the stone floor. Axel's fingers, coated in Roxas’ pooling pre-cum, touched Roxas' flushed skin and matted hair. They rubbed against each other and kissed and never wanted it to end.

“I’m close,” Axel husked. “Stay with me, Roxas. Stay,” he breathed against Roxas’ ear, placing kisses next to it. “Cum with me. Cum,” he whispered.

Roxas held on for his life while Axel jerked him off and fucked him raw. He moaned ever louder, feeling his pleasure build. “I want to. I want to. I love you. Axel. I fucking love you,” he wheezed, grabbing at himself to get off the rest of the way whilst willing his mind to stay asleep with every ounce of energy he could muster.

Axel grunted and slammed into him repeatedly. Roxas felt Axel’s orgasm fill him up, and his own rip through him, spilling over his and Axel’s hand. The sensation completely swallowed him. He stiffened and tensed. His other hand gripped around Axel so tightly, refusing to let go, to lose him, to ever be parted again. The daylight vanished and darkness swallowed them whole. Roxas’ head spun, as if falling. Axel’s weight pressed down. The room felt colder than before, the ground harder, and the breath against his skin humid. 

Their rough pants filled the air, as they lay on the floor.

“Shit what—” Axel hissed, thumping his head against something. “Where’d the light go?”

Roxas blinked rapidly. He felt stiff and cold, whilst his orgasm soaked in his pants. Everything felt… _heightened_. _Real._

“Axel,” Roxas said in a hoarse whisper. He struggled to move his body, but his gaze wandered about, trying to understand what had happened. His senses kicked in and returned to him. There was something hard against the back of his head. He touched it. “Holy shit!” Roxas sprang up, hitting the underside of the table with his head. “Ow.”

Axel chuckled and kissed Roxas’ forehead better, whispering, “Sweetheart.”

“Axel.” Roxas could hardly make out the man before him, but he could definitely feel his solid weight as Axel straddled him. “We’re out.”

“Huh?”

“We’re—” Roxas pulled Axel to himself clapped his hand over Axel’s mouth and his own at the sudden sound of a door opening and footsteps walking every which way. Roxas’ chest still heaved from his climax, and this extra bit of excitement over having freed Axel. Because _that’s_ what had happened. Somehow. Axel was _free._ He tried to keep his breathing as quiet as possible, and Axel did the same while they listened to the steps passing by and watched the flashlight dart between rows of filing cabinets. The light illuminated the stained glass window, which looked blue from the night outside. 

The footsteps faded. The door shut.

“Holy shit!” both men whispered, holding each other and trembling.

“We made it,” they quietly sung in chorus, hugging, kissing, and hugging each other some more.

“You feel so good. Better than a dream,” Axel cooed as he nuzzled against Roxas’ neck.

Roxas completely shared the sentiment, kissing Axel even more and running his hands over the other man’s broad back, and experiencing everything for the first time. Axel’s scent, his taste; all the things he never knew were missing inside the dream, but which painted a complete and delicious picture now.

“You saved me. You saved me. Oh, Roxas, I love you. Until the day I die I’ll always love you,” Axel sang in a hushed tone as they huddled under the desk.

Roxas tittered ever so quietly even as heartfelt tears rolled down his cheeks. It had all been such an ordeal, but finally, they were together and in the real world. “You really _are_ real. I’m so glad—I love you. Oh, Axel. I love you so much!”

They kissed again, sucking breaths and lips, and holding each other tight. It was Roxas who let go first after long moments and Axel’s touches becoming more purposeful.

“We should go. I want to get you home.”

“Home? My home… I don’t… have a home.”

Roxas smiled and choked on his happy-sad laugh. “My home, silly. You’ll live with me.”

Axel’s chest inflated. The smile stretched broad. They scrambled out from under the table. Roxas took his things and made to head for the door but looked behind as no footsteps followed.

“Axel?”

The man clutched the painting and looked over at Roxas. “This is it, right? Where I was?”

“Yes.”

“We’re leaving it behind?”

“Yes?” he answered, uncertain.

“I feel strange leaving it behind.”

Roxas walked back to Axel, touching his arm, the fabric of the red coat coarse. Roxas marveled at it, astounded and not quite believing that this was truly happening. He shook his head and refocused. “I… we can’t take it. It doesn’t belong to me.”

“I think it belongs to me. Or I to it?” Axel spoke ever so quietly, continuing to look at the painting in the poor light.

“I might get in trouble if we take it.”

“Oh.” Axel pulled his eyes off the object in his hands and looked at Roxas for a long moment. He huffed out a gust of air and furrowed his brow. He rubbed his thumb over the brass plaque. “Traumhafte Landschaft,” he uttered.

“What’s it mean?”

“Hmm? Oh… A dreamlike landscape.” Axel frowned and shook his head, as if waking from a haze. “No. You’re right… I’ve dreamed enough. Let’s leave it here.”

“Okay. Let’s put it back in the box and go.” Roxas took Axel’s hand and they stealthily hurried down the hall, putting the painting back. Axel gave it one final forlorn stare but then picked up Roxas’ hand, pecked a kiss to his lips and smiled.

“Let’s go. I want to see the world with you.”

Roxas beamed.

They headed down the fire escape, hand in hand. The cool air outside hit them. Roxas shivered a little. 

“You look cold.” Axel took his long red coat off and draped it over Roxas’ shoulders.

They smiled at each other. “Will you be okay?” Roxas asked.

Axel’s smile grew bigger. “Yes. Thank you for always worrying about me, sweetheart.” He tucked his finger under Roxas’ chin, pushing up, and kissing him softly on the lips.

Roxas squeezed Axel tight, took his hand and said, “C’mon.” They stole through the streets with Axel marveling at everything, and Roxas giving a running commentary.

They holed up in Roxas’ apartment for the day, and Roxas called in sick for the next few days. They had a lot to get through and one of those things was sex, just to make sure neither of them woke up from their joined reality. 

_____❤_____

* * *

_**~cream pudding** _

  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> I apologise for the story most likely not being as angsty as you wanted, paopusky. If I went down the truly angsty path (I worked some out in my head that I can tell you about in chat) I wouldn't have been able to swing a happy ending, and I felt that part of your prompts was more important 😋.
> 
> As I wrote it I started feeling myself building a really big and complex world. This could _easily_ have turned into a multi-chapter story. It was hard holding back. But I knew I couldn't finish it within the timeframe so I didn't go into the nitty-gritty of everything. And thus the story is purposefully left ambiguous. Feel free to make your own interpretations of why Axel got stuck inside a painting, and when you have headcanoned something feel free to let me know. Also feel free to make art or writing if the fancy strikes 😉.
> 
> And I'd like to mention that while this story wasn't inspired by Roald Dahl's The Witches, disturbing memories of having watched the movie certainly came to mind as I started crafting the tale. I've never read the book, but do love the concept of being stuck in objects, like paintings.
> 
> Kudos and comments appreciated, and I hope you all have a wonderful holiday season and a good New Years! I've got a lot of big projects planned for 2020. I hope you will look forward to it.


End file.
